


Overheard at the Bunker

by SylvanFreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, 15.9 The Trap, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Brotherly Love, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, Gen, Humor, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Kidnapped Castiel (Supernatural), Leviathans, Major Castiel Whump, Purgatory, Torture, trapped in the dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-18 05:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21856000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanFreckles/pseuds/SylvanFreckles
Summary: 100 Themes Challenge: SupernaturalOneshots/drabbles/vignets based in the series Supernatural. Eventually going to be multiple characters and genres. Chapters will be set in different seasons, or may be AU, but these will be marked in the notes at the beginning of the chapter.Prompt 5: Exodus - This time, they're all coming home (15.9 spoilers).
Relationships: Balthazar & Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel & Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 41
Kudos: 60





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Fictmas 2019 is really discouraging me...I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong, but I'm 6 chapters in with like 94 hits and 0 comments. I really want to delete it and throw it out, but part of me just doesn't want to give up. So I figured I'd polish this off and put it up. I don't really have a schedule or timeline for releasing these, just as I can.
> 
> This chapter is set in season 1, don't really have any episodes in mind but Sam and Dean haven't really meshed back together as brothers yet and Sam is still in a pretty dark place.

“Pack up.”

Sam caught the duffel thrown at his chest with one hand, nearly spilling his coffee. “What the hell, Dean?”

“We've got a case in Illinois,” Dean explained, shoving a handful of dirty laundry into the bottom of his bag. “Looks like a poltergeist is tearing up the library. Full-on Ghostbusters stuff, man.”

Sam dropped the bag and adjusted the lid to his coffee cup. “Dean, it's almost ten and Illinois is at least six hours away.”

“So?”

“So maybe we should leave in the morning?”

The older Winchester stopped for a moment, staring off into the distance with his head tilted slightly, then shook his head. “Nope. We're gonna get an early start.”

“Dean,” Sam sighed and sat down at the edge of his bed as his brother started ransacking the in-room sink for hotel soaps and plastic cups. “Dude, it's late. Let's just leave in the morning.”

“I'm not tired,” Dean replied. He hooked one finger into the waistband of his dirty jeans—streaked with grave dirt and blood and god-knew what else—and held them out at arm's length. “Pack your stuff or this is going with your delicates, Samantha.”

Sam shot him a glare but turned to pack his own clothes. They had the room until tomorrow, the cops weren't on their tails for once, and the waitress at the diner had left Dean her phone number before he could ask for it—there was literally no reason to leave town tonight.

“Hey, bitch.”

The younger Winchester turned around in time to catch the towels flung at him before they could hit him in the face. “What the hell, Dean?”

“I don't have room in mine,” Dean replied. “Come on, we're burning moonlight.”

Sam set his teeth and turned his back on his brother as he awkwardly folded the few things he'd left out. He hadn't been planning on moving out until morning. There was a documentary he'd wanted to watch, and the continental breakfast at the hotel had a decent selection of healthy food. Getting back on the road meant his brother's crappy cassette collection and breakfast at some diner with more grease on the tablecloth than in the fryer.

“You done yet?” Dean asked, leaning in the doorway with his arms folded.

“Fine. Yes.” Sam shoved his bag into his brother's arms and stalked past him to the car. Dean didn't say a word as he stowed Sam's duffel before climbing into the driver's seat and taking Sam's coffee out of his hands.

“Dean!” Sam protested. “That's mine!”

“Yeah, well, you don't need it,” Dean reasoned, taking a long slurp of Sam's coffee. “Geez, what do you put in this?”

“Hazelnut syrup and soy powder.”

“Is it decaf?”

Sam stared at his brother, eyes wide in shock. “What? No!”

“Good enough,” Dean shrugged, downing another mouthful of coffee with a grimace. “Don't give me that look, Sammy, it's six hours to Illinois.”

“It's Sam,” Sam said. He slouched down in the seat, staring out the window. Why should he have expected Dean to understand? Dean who had never wanted to put roots down or stay with a girl longer than four or five hours? Dean who had fit into the hunting life so completely it he wore it like their dad's old leather jacket? He could never understand everything Sam had lost.

Against his better judgment, the movement of the Impala and the dark landscape rolling past did actually soothe Sam's troubled mind. There was something familiar to all of this, even though the last time he'd traveled with his brother they'd both been under their father's thumb (well, Dean still was).

Dean had popped one of his tapes in, but to Sam's surprise the older Winchester left the volume low. It was as though the quiet of the night had cast a spell over the car, one even Dean was loath to break.

Sam yawned, settling himself a little further down in the seat to rest his head at a more comfortable angle. He hadn't felt this tired at the hotel. Sometimes it seemed like every time he stopped moving the memories caught up and he got so twisted into them that peace was impossible...but nights like tonight with the moon overhead and the road underfoot he could almost, _almost_ forget everything that had driven him back into this life.

He didn't even notice when his eyes slid shut and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

There were a few sensations pulling Sam back to consciousness. One was the smell: a familiar blend of gunpowder, oil, and old leather. And he could smell Dean, who almost always smelled like hotel shampoo and that one brand of aftershave Dad had always used (when he didn't smell like blood or sewage, that is).

The Impala rocked beneath him as they passed over an uneven patch in the road, and Sam slowly blinked his eyes open to find himself crammed in the passenger's seat, head cricked at an awkward angle, Dean's leather jacket (which had been Dad's once) spread over him like a blanket.

Dean was singing along with the tape in the player. Sam tried to relax back against the seat, not wanting to interrupt—Dean always sang better if he thought no one could hear him. The older Winchester would play up his singing in company, pitching his voice out of key and exaggerating every note, but in those brief moments where Sam had caught Dean singing along for his own pleasure he'd been surprised to realize his brother had a pretty good voice.

“Not fooling me, Sammy,” Dean said after the song ended. “You think I don't know your sleep patterns by now?”

“That's creepy,” Sam complained. “And it's Sam.”

“We should hit Illinois in about an hour,” Dean continued, as though Sam had never spoken up. “Think there's a Waffle House? I'm starving.”

“An hour?” Sam squinted at his watch. Well. He'd slept over four hours, without a single nightmare.

“Yeah, you were pretty crashed,” Dean said, a little too casually. “Didn't even notice what I drew on your face.”

Sam spluttered in rage and yanked down the visor to check the vanity mirror. Dean burst out laughing, though Sam was relieved to see that his face was clean. “You're such a jerk.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” Dean grinned, reaching over with one hand to ruffle Sam's hair. “So, waffles?”

With a huff of irritation—though, truth be told, it was mostly for show—Sam settled back in his seat. “Would it kill you to eat something that isn't fried?”

Dean sucked a breath in between his teeth, pretending to consider the question. “Yeah, Sammy. It might.”

“It's Sam.”

“It's Waffle House!” Dean exclaimed, pointing forward to the yellow sign that had around the curve in the road.

Sam couldn't help but smile, though he tried to hide it with a yawn. Sometimes his brother seemed arrogant, clueless, and almost sadistic...but deep down, Dean would always be Sam's big brother.

And sometimes big brothers know just what you need.


	2. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a Grand Marquis of Hell captures Castiel, Sam and Dean have to rely on an...unusual...plan to rescue him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late night...come home...work sucks...write fanfic
> 
> It's not as angsty as it seems. Trust me.

“ _Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends.”_

* * *

“Not another step!”

Sam stopped, hands held out to his sides to show that he had no weapon. “We're just here to talk.”

The demon, Leraje, scoffed. “The Winchesters. Here to talk. Wonders will never cease.”

“Just let Cas go, all right?” Dean called from a few feet away from Sam.

Castiel was chained to the wall, hands held up and apart by ancient sigiled manacles, the kind that were used to trap the first fallen angels. He was gagged, but it looked like just a piece of dirty rag and not anything warded. He didn't seem to be injured beyond a few bumps and scrapes, but Sam knew that wasn't necessarily the case.

Leraje was ancient, one of the Grand Marquis of Hell described in the _Key of Solomon_. His vessel was a handsome middle-eastern man in a long green tunic with delicate embroidery around the hem and cuffs. His long, dark hair was secured back by a headband with a single green jewel at his forehead, but he seemed to only be armed with Cas's angel blade. He'd been trapped here, at the bottom of an old well in the heart of a limestone cave system for thousands of years before the brothers and Castiel stumbled upon his prison. They'd had to break the warding to go after a wendigo that was feeding on the nearby campground, and that was when Leraje snatched Cas.

“I'm just offering you a trade,” Leraje replied. “I'll release your angel when, and only when, you retrieve my bow.”

Sam frowned. The _Key of Solomon_ had described Leraje's bow as an instrument that caused battles and disputes and gangrenous wounds...that wasn't really something they wanted in the hands of a demon. “Where is it?” he asked, trying to stall for time.

“It was lost to me when I fell in battle,” Leraje said. “When I was bound in this pitiful place, my bow was given over to my enemy as a trophy. Prince Azazel presented it to his lord, and he locked it away in one of his crypts.”

Azazel? The yellow-eyed demon? Sam exchanged a glance with Dean...so Leraje's bow was in one of Lucifer's crypts? “How are we supposed to find it?” he asked.

“I've heard it said you are clever,” Leraje sneered. “Surely you can locate one single crypt.”

“Right,” Dean took a step forward. “So let Cas go and I'll take his place. They'll have a better chance of finding it without me.”

“What?” Sam stared at his brother. “No, no, that's not right,” he moved closer, stepping toward Dean to block his brother. “You should take me. Cas might know where the crypts are, and Dean's the one you want looking. He's got the instincts.”

“Sammy,” Dean was gritting his teeth. He shoved Sam back a step. “You're better with languages and maps and shit like that.”

“So?” Sam shoved back. “You've got more connections. Most hunters will barely even talk to me these days.”

“That's not important,” Dean said. He got right into Sam's face, glaring up at his brother. “You're the only one who has a chance of finding those crypts, Sam. You and Cas.”

Sam grabbed his brother by the lapels and spun him, placing himself between Dean and Leraje. “I'm not leaving you here.”

“And I'm not leaving you!” Dean retorted, shoving him away. “Either of you, you get it?”

Oh, he got it. Dean was in one of his destructive moods. One of his _I could let the world burn as long as Sammy is okay_ moods. “No, I don't get it, Dean! You don't have the monopoly on putting yourself in danger!”

Dean was nearly growling now. He grabbed the front of Sam's jacket and gave him another shove, stepping up with him to crowd into his space. “That's not what this is about!”

“It's not?” Sam batted Dean's hands away and twisted to the side to gesture at the demon, who had taken a few steps closer to watch the argument with a broad smile on his face. “Then what is it? How is this not about you and your stupid need to throw yourself on the flames to save me? I never asked you to save me, Dean!”

“You don't have to ask!” Dean whirled away, his footsteps quick with agitation. “You don't have to ask, Sammy. It's my job,” he continued in a softer voice.

“Dean...”

“Come on, boys,” Leraje cajoled them, moving in between them with both hands outstretched. “Much as I love the bickering, can we just agree right now that the angel isn't going anywhere?”

“No,” Dean said, pulling an angel blade out of the back of his belt.

“He's coming with us,” Sam added, the demon-killing knife in his hand.

They lunged together, Dean piercing the demon's chest and Sam his throat. Leraje shuddered, orange sparks lighting up his skeleton, then his empty vessel slumped to the ground.

Sam heaved a sigh of relief, sheathing the knife back where it belonged. “That was the stupidest plan we've ever come up with,” he commented as Dean rifled through Leraje's pockets for a key to the shackles.

“Hey, it worked,” Dean replied, holding a key up in triumph.

Shaking his head, Sam followed Dean onto the dais where the older Winchester was already opening the manacles that held Cas up. Starting some hair-brained argument to distract a demon that liked to split up families...well, they'd had worse plans, he supposed.

“You okay, man?” Dean asked as Cas tore the gag from his mouth.

“I'm fine,” the angel practically growled.

“What's wrong?” Sam asked. Cas seemed upset—more upset than he should be, even given that he'd been chained to a wall by an ancient demon bent on destroying the world.

“Your plan was unacceptable,” Cas replied. “Clearly, the two of you are the most suited to search for Lucifer's crypt, given that most of them are warded against angels.”

Dean just laughed and clapped a hand on the angel's shoulder. “We'll keep that in mind next time, Cas.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Please tell me there isn't going to be a next time,” he complained, gingerly stepping around Leraje's body.

“Hey, with the crazies they've got downstairs?” Dean spread his hands and shook his head. “You never know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wikipedia lists Leraje as "a mighty Great Marquis of Hell who has thirty legions of demons under his power. He causes great battles and disputes, and makes gangrene wounds caused by arrows. He is depicted as a gallant and handsome archer clad in green, carrying a bow and quiver." He really is from the Key of Solomon, I just took a few liberties.


	3. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU of Season Six. Castiel has been captured by Raphael and subjected to the worst punishments of Heaven, but Balthazar, with the Winchesters' help, manages to pull him out and bring him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really tough week this week. Fighting a bad case of bronchitis, then my asshole ex managed to get the mediation date delayed until late February. I don't understand why he's fighting me on every step of this when he's the one who asked for a divorce. I'm not even asking for anything beyond the stuff I've paid for, I just want this to be over.
> 
> Anyway. I just needed to write some whump, and when I was poking around at the prompts and fic ideas and saw the third of the 100 themes was Light, an idea popped into my head. So here it is.

All he knew now was the light.

Anything from before had been stripped away under the awful, relentless assault. Ever atom of his form sang with the burn of the light. Every corner of his mind had been illuminated, turned out, wiped clean until there was only light.

No shadows, no relief from the pitiless glare that illuminated and burned every fault, every weakness, every molecule.

_You came off the line with a crack in your chassis._

It was all cracks now. There was nothing of himself anymore; just the light, flooding his senses and mind and whispering to him that he was broken. Fallen. Flawed. Beyond help or hope or companionship. Utterly alone, in a sea of blinding brightness—deaf in an ocean of condemnation.

All he knew was the light...and the pain. The universe pulsed around him, the beat driving into his mind the awful tempo of punishment and restitution. Of a fate well-deserved, of an eternity in the light.

Then the pain changed. After decades—centuries, millenia—of the crushing, blinding pain a new one spiked through his form. He tried to scream, though he had no voice in the void—tried to struggle, though in this form he had neither limbs nor wings.

But relentless as the light, something shadowed in gold was pulling on him, tearing him away from his prison of penitance. He would have fought it, but for a distant echo he recognized. Something he had known before the light, before the pain and the blindess.

His brother.

Then the light shattered, and the world screamed back into its rightful place.

* * *

_Holy fire._

“No, stay back, I've got him.”

His brother's presence washed over him, and without a second thought he tried to burrow into the other angel's grace for some relief from the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Sorry, you can't do that, Cassie. Not on the mortal plane. Just take a deep breath, come on.”

He didn't need to breathe, did he? The pressure on his chest was immense, and with more encouragement from his brother he took in a shaky breath. The air buzzed in his chest like angry bees and he coughed it out, then sucked in another great breath.

“That's it. Just breathe. Focus on that right now, just in and out.”

In. And out. In. And out. His head was clearing; the great, twisting, shadowless light dancing in and out with every breath. Sensation was returning, overwhelming him—heat on eyelids, cloth on skin, blood in mouth. He coughed and retched, cradled back against his brother's chest as the other angel murmured comforting nonsense.

“You can put the fire out,” his brother said into the silence beyond the light. “He's back, it's definitely Castiel.”

Castiel. That was his name.

Castiel opened his eyes.

A familiar face was looking down at him, blond hair over bright eyes, laugh lines crinkling up with a smile. “There you are.”

“Bal...Balth...”

“That's enough for now,” Balthazar soothed. One hand was gently stroking through Castiel's hair, the other tucking him close to the other angel's chest. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Cas?”

He flinched at the sudden noise, curling into Balthazar's chest. It was a Winchester, a human brother, a soul he had cradled and carried and protected but suddenly the clamor and the light was back and Raphael was going to pull him out of this body at any moment and-

“You're right here, Cassie, you're right here with me,” Balthazar murmured against his head. “Those idiots you like so much are here, too, but they're going to be quiet for now.” He added this last bit over Castiel's head, no doubt directed at the others in the room.

“Wh...what...”

“Happened? Near as we can tell, Uncle Raffy ejected you from your vessel and dragged you back upstairs.”

Raphael. Castiel shuddered again and tried to tuck himself closer to Balthazar, to surround himself with the other angel's grace for protection and healing.

“Sorry, Cassie,” Balthazar gently rocked him back, one hand still carding through his hair. “We can't do that in this form, remember?”

In their true form, angels could connect with one another for comfort, companionship, or to be healed...the human body was limited by its physical nature and thus the closest he could get to the safety Balthazar's grace offered was to cling to the other man.

“Cas?” Dean had approached, quietly, on his knees a few feet away. “Is he okay?”

“What do you think?” Balthazar's voice was still soft, his arm secure around Castiel's trembling shoulders and his hand gently combing through the dark hair, but there was a sense of scorn in his voice. “He was torn from his vessel and tortured for weeks by your time—could have been centuries in heaven. We're lucky he has enough mind left to recognize who we are.”

He shivered. He had arms in this form, Castiel remembered, and with some effort managed to wrap one around Balthazar. “Bal-?” his throat convulsed before he could finish his brother's name, but Balthazar understood.

“Just a little,” Balthazar warned, and rested the tips of his fingers on Castiel's forehead.

“ _I've told you boys, over and over,” Balthazar fumed. “I'm not your bloody butler! Stop summoning me!”_

“ _Shut it,” Dean was snarling, pacing around on the other side of the ring of holy fire. “Lisa and Ben are gone, and that son of a bitch won't answer me. I wanna know what's going on.”_

“ _What?”_ Through the vision, Castiel could feel his brother's irritation and confusion. _“Do I look like I care about your petty little emergencies?”_

“ _You're gonna care, you-”_

“ _Dean!” the bigger Winchester pushed the angrier one aside. “Balthazar, look, Lisa and Ben were taken by demons. We just wanted to know if you've heard anything.”_

“ _Why would I have heard anything?” Balthazar threw his hands up in frustration. “Why don't you ask Cassie? Hmm? Not joined at the hip anymore?”_

“ _He's not answering,” Dean growled. “Hasn't been for over a week.”_

_Balthazar paused. That...was bad. He hadn't heard from Castiel either, but had assumed the other angel was just seeing after his human charges. If the Winchesters didn't know where he was...._

“ _When did you speak with him last?”_

“ _What?” Dean shook his head, his features twisted in anger. “That doesn't matter.”_

“ _Doesn't matter?” Balthazar prowled to the edge of the fire, risking his true form to get as close to the brothers as he could. “You're telling me neither of us have heard from Castiel in_ weeks _and it doesn't matter? With civil war in Heaven? With Raphael out for his blood? With half of Hell bloody well pissed about his deal with Crowley? It doesn't matter?”_

_He was tempted to flare his wings to threaten the boys, but they'd be burned to ash in an instant thanks to the holy fire. Instead, he locked eyes with the angry one—the one Cassie was so hung up on—and put as much authority into his voice as he could. “Let me go.”_

“ _Balthazar,” the tall one, holding his hands out, was actually pleading. “You haven't heard from Cas either?”_

_Now he looked at Sam. “No. Not since you left him in that ring of holy fire. And thank you so much for that, by the way, we only lost a third of our army when word got out that Cassie had made a deal with Crowley.”_

“ _Hey, it's not-” Dean began._

“ _Enough!” Balthazar folded his arms. “Let me out of this and I'll find him myself.”_

“ _Lisa and Ben first.”_

“ _Really, Dean,” Balthazar shook his head. “I don't think you're in position to make demands.”_

“ _Come on,” Sam stepped in between them, hands held out, ever the peace maker. “Balthazar, of course we're worried about Cas.” Dean snorted. Sam shot him a look. “We are. We're just worried about Lisa and Ben, too. Do you think you could help us find them, then we can help you find Cas?”_

“ _Are you bargaining with me?” Balthazar asked._

“ _I'm just asking for help,” Sam replied._

_Balthazar rolled his eyes. Fine. Cassie would have a fit if he let anything happen to his little boyfriend's little girlfriend, after all._

Castiel pulled away and twisted to look at Dean. “Lisa?” he whispered.

Dean's face went still, though his eyes were sharp with emotion. “They're all right. No thanks to...” he swallowed and looked away. “They're fine.”

He was angry. Castiel closed his eyes and let his head rest against Balthazar's chest. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” Balthazar assured him. He didn't even need to look up to know his brother was glaring at Dean. “I took their memories away, they'll be safe now.”

Castiel started and stared up at Balthazar in horror. The other angel squeezed his shoulders. “Walls can be pulled down, Cassie. If Dean ever wants to go back, we can just bring the memories back.”

“Then Balthazar found your...your body,” Sam explained. He'd moved past Dean and was sitting cross-legged, just a few feet away. “It was like the last time, when you left Jimmy behind, except....”

“There was no soul,” Balthazar continued. “Oh, Cassie,” he murmured and hugged the other angel close. “Oh, I'm so sorry.”

_A flare of light outside the door was the only warning before Raphael's soldiers burst through. Naphtali fell first, his slender vessel collapsing to the ground in an explosion of grace and ash_

Castiel jolted out of the memory. “No!” he tried to pull free from his brother's arms, but Balthazar held tight. “He found us, we have to...” his strength was almost nothing, and he found himself tucked against his brother's chest again as the blond angel held him.

“They're gone. Every cell. Someone betrayed us all, Cassie. We lost.”

* * *

_They'd tried to be smart about it. Split the resistance into cells instead of having one central unit, each one specialized to strike against one particular line of Raphael's forces. No one except Castiel himself, and a few at the top of command, even knew the locations of the cells._

_Balthazar, of course, was one who did. He hadn't thought it was odd at first when Castiel didn't check in for over a week—the commander was probably on a dangerous mission or, at worst, hanging out with his little human pets._

_Then the Winchesters had summoned him and Balthazar had realized his mistake. As soon as he could get free of their little mortal concerns (really what was one woman and child in the face of the apocalypse) he'd flown to the cells Castiel had taken personal charge of._

_They were gone. Nothing but empty vessels and burnt wing prints, one after the other, even his own cells going dark as he searched. Someone was systematically wiping them out—had been wiping them out and covering it up under the banner of secrecy. Their army was decimated, barely twenty angels left alive over the hundreds Castiel had once command._

_Then he found Castiel's body. There were no wing prints, the vessel was functional...just empty._

_Castiel's vessel was...peculiar. It was almost more like the manifestations the archangels had used in the old days before the schism, though the technique for those had been lost when Gabriel fled Heaven. It was so much more than a human body, and not just because there was no soul. It was a vessel in a different sense—carved of flesh and blood and meant to house a celestial being without the need of a mortal tie to bind it._

_Balthazar could see his Father's handiwork. His Father had made Castiel his own body, identical to the human vessel he'd once possessed. It was both intriguing and infuriating, to think of the long-absent creator stepping in for one angel when countless others had fallen, but Balthazar had given up on God long ago._

_More importantly, now, the spellwork that made the vessel fit to contain Castiel would preserve it for a time. If they had taken his brother to Heaven to face judgement, Balthazar was going to need a strong summoning spell to bring him back._

* * *

“Cas?” Sam was crouching in front of him, worry creasing his forehead. “Are you...can I do anything?”

Balthazar had left Castiel wrapped in a blanket, tucked away in a corner of the warehouse where they'd summoned him and, apparently, managed to cram his true form back into his vessel. His mind was a jumble of the memories his brother had shared, including the eighty-two hours Balthazar had spent summoning over and over until there was enough of a crack in the void of light to pull Castiel free.

Then Balthazar had grabbed Dean by the collar and announced that they were going to procure transportation. Castiel suspected it was a ruse so that his brother could properly scold the older Winchester in private,but he was worn far too thin to think about that.

He shook his head. Sam had settled down to sit on the floor anyway and offered him a thermos cup of coffee. “Bobby called. Says he can power up the warding if you need a safe place to stay.”

Castiel took the offered cup and stared down into the dark liquid. Was there really anything safe now that Raphael had won? Even with the warding it would only be a matter of time before the angels physically hunted down everyone the Winchesters knew. Whether Raphael would come for the brothers, to be archangel vessels, or for Castiel for revenge...he didn't know.

“Hey,” Sam rested a hand on his shoulder. “It's gonna be okay, Cas. We'll figure something out.”

He leaned into the touch without really knowing what he was doing, and in the next moment the younger Winchester had pulled Castiel against him in an embrace. Castiel let out a deep, shuddering breath and held on, burying his face in Sam's shoulder as the memories and emotions of so many months came crashing down.

This was all he'd ever wanted. Just someone to take the burden off him, even for a moment, even just the illusion that this whole, horrible mess could be fixed.

He was just so tired.

“I don't want to fight anymore, Sam,” he whispered into the hunter's shoulder. Sam's embrace tightened.

“Oh, Cas.” Sam's voice cracked on the words. “I know, man, I know. Look, whatever happens...we're gonna do better, okay? You're gonna have us right there with you.”

Cas gave a harsh laugh that turned into a sob. He didn't have anything else. His army had been slaughtered, Raphael was victorious, Heaven was closed to him...he hadn't been able to try his wings but could feel that his grace was weakened if not utterly destroyed.

He finally had the family he'd so desperately needed...but it was too late.

“Guys!” Dean ran into the room, eyes wild, hair disheveled, bloody angel blade in one hand and one sleeve torn off halfway up the elbow. “Sammy...Cas...you are not going to believe this!”

“What the hell?” Sam released Castiel and stood up, staring at his brother. “You were just supposed to go pick up a van!”

“Ah, yes,” Balthazar appeared behind Sam, looking much better than Dean though still slightly dishelved. “You might say we hit a snag.”

“What kind of snag?” Sam demanded, looking from Dean to Balthazar. “What happened?”

“Leviathan!” Dean dropped his blade and doubled over, hands resting on his thighs. “Crowley and Raphael were working together...they popped Purgatory, Cas.”

Castiel felt his face drain of color, barely noticing when Sam sat back down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders for support. “Together?”

“Never trust a demon, Cassie,” Balthazar commented. He'd conjured up a mirror from somewhere and was casually teasing his hair back into place. “Of course he was double-crossing you.”

“Something went wrong,” Dean continued. “Don't know if it was just angel on demon or what...we were just gonna see what was going on, get some intel for the next step but it was a bloodbath. And Raphael....”

Castiel stared up at the hunter. “Raphael?”

“He exploded!”

“We _think_ he exploded,” Balthazar corrected. He put the mirror away and sat down on Castiel's other side, a gentle brush from his grace soothing some of the aches of Castiel's vessel. “There were certainly enough bits. They probably fought over who got the souls and something bigger tore them apart.”

“The Leviathan,” Dean repeated.

“Or whatever else Dad locked in Purgatory.”

“Hey, you heard what that demon said!”

“Oh, now you're back to trusting demons?” Balthazar was back on his feet and in Dean's face. Sam quickly stood up to get between them, a palm on each of their chests.

“Look, just...explain what you found.”

“Like we said, it was a bloodbath,” Dean said, shooting a dirty look at Balthazar. “Halls full of dead demons and angels. When we got to the center of the building, they had drawn this compass thing on the wall but there were just...bits. Bits of people everywhere.”

“There was one demon,” Balthazar continued. “One survivor. He said Raphael and Crowley couldn't contain the power of Purgatory because something else came out with the souls. The Leviathan.”

Castiel shuddered. Angels had all heard stories of the first abominations—dark creatures, powerful and strong, that their Father had locked away in a deep dark place. If they had been in Purgatory instead....

“Wait,” Sam shook his head. “So...what, the Leviathan are out now?”

“Seems that way,” Dean replied.

“Let's not be hasty,” Balthazar said. “I think the two of you should take Cassie back to your little hideout. I'll do some snooping around, let you know what I come up with.”

“Yeah.” Surprisingly, Dean agreed with Balthazar. “We can face whatever comes next together. Right, Cas?”

The older hunter held out a hand to help Castiel to his feet. He looked up at his friend for a moment, and in that hand saw something more than the comraderie of his words. There was forgiveness there, and the exasperated fondness the hunter usually displayed.

But more than that...there was brotherhood.

Castiel took the hand and let his brother pull him to his feet. Whatever came next, they would all face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it amazing how much writing whump can make you feel better?
> 
> The thing about angels in their energy forms being able to mingle their presences is something I came up with, I've just liked that idea for a while. That these celestial waves of intent could kind of meld together for comfort or healing, but not necessarily for something sexual.


	4. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Cas misses a check-in, the brothers head out after him only for Dean to be trapped along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say more Cas whump?
> 
> Are you sure?? I could have sworn you did....

**Forty-one hours**

Dean knew he shouldn't be this worried. Cas had gone dark for a hell of a lot longer than two days before. This just...something felt wrong. And after all this time, after Raphael and Naomi and Asmodeus and every other angel and demon and everything in between he's just...worried.

At least Sam was on his side with this one. Cas was supposed to check in every thirty-six hours—other hunters had twenty-four, but since Cas didn't need sleep or food like the rest of them he tended to go longer without checking in. But it was maddening. Sitting in the bunker running through phone traces and contacts and the case notes Cas had uploaded to the online database (he refused to call it a cloud, something Dean found endlessly hilarious).

**Forty-five hours**

They'd tracked him down to his hotel, but of course the room was empty. Even worse, his truck was in the parking lot. He'd left most of his case stuff behind, too, which might at least give them a place to start looking.

“Looks like there are two main spots of activity,” Sam said, studying the map Cas had taped up to the wall. “There's an industrial complex about two miles to the east, and an old neighborhood scheduled for demolition south of that.”

Dean grunted, staring at the map. “Guess they're as good a start as any.”

“Right. Wanna flip for the warehouses?”

Sam had won, of course, but Dean couldn't even begin to care. Anything was better than sitting around waiting for news to pop. Even trudging through derelict houses and over broken pavement.

**Forty-six hours**

“Come on, Cas,” Dean muttered, slowly turning in a circle. He'd gone through about half the streets already, looking for any sign of recent activity. He'd found nothing except the crime scene and some fresh graffiti, not even a trace of sulfur beyond what Cas had already noted.

His foot scuffed over something and Dean crouched down to look at it. It was a button, about the size of a quarter. It wasn't really anything remarkable, just a plain beige button...except the dark stain along the edge that was almost certainly blood. Dean ran his thumb over the stain, his stomach clenching. Cas's coat had buttons like this, didn't it?

“Cas?” Dean straightened up, calling his friend's name. He studied the road up and down, trying to trace where the button had come from, or where whoever was wearing it might have been going.

There! Dean jogged toward one of the houses to study the fresh gouges cut out of the old porch. The cuts were pale and fairly clean, probably something that had happened in the last few days if the wood wasn't stained yet. Now he could see more—the trail was almost two days old but there were definite signs of a struggle here. The trail lead around the house, where he found a scrap of tan fabric embedded deep in a slash in the house's siding.

When he tugged the fabric free he found bloodstains.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean muttered as he pulled his phone out. Sam didn't answer—the signal was dodgy in the industrial park—so he sent a quick text about what he'd found. There wasn't much left to the back of the house. The back steps had caved in, the shed had no roof, and the only thing left was the old-fashioned root cellar.

There was a piece of pipe shoved through the handles in the root cellar door. Dean heaved it free with a grunt and pried one door open. The cellar below was pitch-dark, the beam of his flashlight barely penetrating the darkness. “Cas?”

He heard a rustle, though there was no movement in the blackness. “Dean?”

Thank god. Or whoever. “Hang on, buddy, I'm coming down.”

“No, Dean! Behind you!”

He half-turned, just in time to see a grinning man with beetle-black eyes give him a merciless shove that sent him crashing down the stairs. The door to the root cellar slammed closed, and Dean could hear something scraping as, undoubtedly, the demon wedged the pipe back into the handles.

“Dammit!” Dean picked himself up, feeling around for the flashlight he'd dropped. “Son of a bitch!”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he let out a sigh, clicking the light back on and flashing it around the room. He finally found Cas sitting against one of the walls, but the angel appeared to be in bad shape. “Looks like I'm a lot better than you.”

Cas let out a sigh and rested his head back against the walls. “They outnumbered me.”

“No kidding.” Dean didn't know what to say, so he just crouched beside his friend and tried to judge the extent of his injuries. There was blood on Cas's shirt, and it looked like maybe his nose was broken. Other than that...shit. “Cas? Are those...what are those?”

The angel grunted, looking up at one of his wrists. They were pinned to the wall, just above his head, with metal spikes shoved through the palm of each hand. “One is a Bowie knife,” Cas explained, his voice tight with pain and exhaustion. “I think the other is some kind of tent stake.”

“And you can't just, y'know, pull them out?”

“This cellar is warded, Dean. I can't...I can't do anything.”

Damn. “How bad?”

Cas sighed again, letting his head rest back against the wall. “They were very unhappy to find an angel on their trail.”

“Well, Sammy knows where we are,” Dean offered, trying to sound optimistic. “You gonna bleed out if I pull you loose?” Normally he wouldn't attempt it without a first aide kit in hand, but Cas was an angel.

“I will not be able to recover,” Cas replied, “but I don't think it will get any worse.”

“Hey, good enough for me,” Dean said. He wrapped his hands around the handle for the knife and tried to pull it out, hesitating when Cas gave a grunt of pain. “Cas?”

“Just pull it.” Dean had set the flashlight down, so he couldn't see his friend's face but he could imagine it. All pale and tight and resolved to the pain.

“I'll be quick,” Dean promised. He braced one knee against the wall and _yanked_. Cas let out a muffled scream and doubled over, clutching his now-free hand to his chest. Dean rubbed his back, frowning at the trembling in Cas's knotted muscles. “Sorry, buddy.”

“I'm fine,” Cas hissed out through clenched teeth. “The other one, please, Dean.”

The other one was a little trickier. Because it was a tent stake it didn't really have a handle, and the bastards who had done this had pounded it in almost flush with Cas's palm. There was just enough that he could work the edge of the Bowie knife under the head of the stake for leverage.

“Hang on, man,” Dean warned. He braced both feet on the wall and felt Cas grip the side of his jacket—not what he meant by hang on, but the last thing he was gonna do was tease Cas in a moment like this. Dean tensed and pulled and slowly... _slowly_...the stake began to slide free. He could feel Cas shaking, hear him panting for breath through the pain. As soon as Dean had pried enough of the stake free he threw the knife to one side to grab the main shaft of the stake and pull it out. Cas didn't scream this time but the horrible, choked-off sob he made was even worse.

Dean grabbed for the flashlight, the tiny beam doing little to illuminate their prison, and brought it around to study Cas again. The angel was curled over his wounded hands, shaking so badly Dean could see it in the dim light. “Cas?”

Cas grunted and finally slumped back against the wall. “I'm all right, Dean.”

“Yeah, no, I don't think so,” Dean retorted. With the flashlight pinned between his knees he stripped off his jacket and shirts, then pulled the Henley and jacket back on. “Lemme see your hands, I'm gonna bandage them up,” he added, tearing his T-shirt into strips.

“Will that help?”

“Of course,” he lied. The only thing that would help, really, was finding a way to get Cas's mojo back, but for now he'd settle with something to at least keep some of the angel's blood on the inside. Cas shakily extended one hand, and Dean tried to ignore how cold the angel's skin was and how filthy the wound looked. “We've gotta get you outta here before lockjaw sets in.”

Cas didn't reply, but twisted to offer his other hand once Dean had finished with the first.

“How long have you been down here?” Dean finally asked. “We started looking when you missed your check-in.”

Cas sighed. “Thirty-two hours.”

Dean stared up at his friend's face, though the shadows from the flashlight made Cas more expressionless than usual. “That long?”

He couldn't even imagine. Injured, powerless, pinned to the wall...all alone in the dark cellar with no way of knowing that help was coming.

But there, in the shadows, was the faintest hint of a smile. “I had faith that you would find me.”

Dean blew out a sigh and gently rested the bandaged hands in Cas's lap. It was no wonder the angel seemed so weak. Cas was already low on power thanks to the angel shortage in heaven, with the warding in the cellar his strength would have been sapped away just keeping his body alive.

“We're gonna get out of here,” Dean promised. He fished his phone out of his pocket, sure that Sammy would have checked the messages by now.

No bars. Dean frowned and paced around the cellar. There was no signal, and when he pulled up the messenger app it couldn't even connect enough to show him if Sam had gotten his message. But that one had gone through, right? He'd sent it before he went into the cellar, so Sammy knew where they were, right?

“Dean?”

“Sam'll find us,” Dean said, dropping back down to sit next to Cas. He clicked the flashlight off to save the batteries, staring out into the darkness. “Just a little bit longer, Cas.”

The angel shifted next to him. Dean closed his eyes, trying to picture the cellar in his mind. It was big, maybe twelve feet wide and twenty feet deep. He'd have plenty of room to pace without stepping on Cas if he got antsy.

Cas moved again. “You okay?” Dean asked. Cas was shifting around, like he couldn't quite get comfortable. Not that the cellar was comfortable to begin with, but the angel just seemed restless.

“I...I don't think I like the dark, Dean.” Cas's voice cracked halfway through the statement, and Dean's heart clenched at how weary Cas sounded.

“Hey, it's okay,” Dean said gently. He blindly reached for Cas's hand, frowning at how cold the angel's skin was. Dean shucked his jacket off and spread it over Cas, tucking it behind his shoulders. “Come on, man, we'll be okay.”

Dean clicked the flashlight back on, setting it on the ground between his ankles. It wasn't much, but it was at least enough light to break the darkness. He scooted up against Cas and wrapped one arm around the angel's shoulders, gently tugging him close.

“Dean?”

“Hey, it's okay, man. Just get some rest.”

Cas gave a sigh and relaxed against him, head dropping to rest on Dean's shoulders. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean leaned his head back against the wall and closed his own eyes. “Any time, Cas.”

**Forty-nine hours**

The door creaked. Dean was on his feet in a moment, Bowie knife in hand, standing between Cas and whoever was on the other side. Bright, late-afternoon sunlight flooded the dark cellar as the door was flung back. Dean brought a hand up to shade his eyes, squinting at the silhouette in the doorway.

“Dean?”

Dean felt his shoulders relax. “Sammy.”

“Oh my god,” Sam was hurrying down the stairs now, staring past Dean into the dark cellar. “Cas?”

“Hello, Sam,” the angel rasped. Dean turned around, wincing as the sunlight illuminated Cas's injured state. The sun hadn't been this high when he'd opened the cellar, so this was his first time truly seeing Cas's injuries. He'd managed to guess at most of them—the blood on Cas's shirt was hidden under Dean's jacket, but the broken nose was obvious as were the dark bruises on his face.

“The cellar's warded,” Dean explained, crouching down next to Sam to study Cas's injuries. “Hey, think you'll be okay once we get you out of here?”

Cas nodded, pushing Dean's jacket away to climb to his feet. Dean caught him by the arm when he stumbled, and Sam had him on the other side.

“Take it easy,” Sam murmured. “How long have you been down here?”

“Too long,” Dean replied. “Damn, it's good to see you, Sammy.”

Sam winced in sympathy. “I found some evidence of demons nearby, but it looks like they've moved on. Carlton and Emily are on their way to take over the case.”

Cas relaxed slightly, even as Dean and Sam helped him up the rickety steps to the sunlit world. “Thank you, Sam.” The sunlight almost seemed to do as much to revive him as the return of his grace, and he stopped for a moment in the open air to just lift his face to the light.

Dean shrugged back into his jacket, watching as Cas's injuries slowly faded and the color returned to the angel's ashen cheeks. It was slower and slower these days, but when Cas flexed his hands and pulled the bandages away to reveal unblemished skin Dean felt some of the tension release from his own body.

“You good to go, Cas?” he asked, after giving the angel a few more moments to just soak up the light.

Cas met his eyes with a smile. “I'm good, Dean.”


	5. Exodus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, they're all coming home (15.9 spoilers).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains major spoilers for episode 15.9 (The Trap). Kind of a rewrite/AU of how I wished that episode had gone.

“No!” Castiel twisted against the trap pinning him in place. One Leviathan stood triumphantly over Dean's still form, weapon still upraised. Others were circling in, their true faces morphing through the human visages they wore. “Don't hurt him!”

The Leviathan standing over Dean sneered at the angel. “Or what?”

He had nothing. No bargaining tool, no weapon he could raise...he was pinned in place like a butterfly to a card while his best friend, his brother, lay vulnerable before these monsters. “I'll go with you,” Castiel offered. “Please. Leave him alone and I'll go with you. Quietly.”

The first Leviathan, the one that had tried to attack him in the forest, stepped up close to him to leer into his face. “You're coming with us either way, bright eyes,” it sneered. One hand stroked down his cheek, the human nails lengthening to claws for a moment.

“I'll come quietly,” Castiel repeated. He had to force himself not to flinch away from the creature's presence. If Dean had any sense he'd take one of the blossoms and leave—he could rescue Sam, trap Chuck, and come back for Castiel to transfer the Mark later.

(If he bothered to come back at all.)

The Leviathan were circling him now. He twisted in place, trying in futility to keep an eye on all of them at once. “Mother did say she wanted the angel,” one of them finally said. “Nothing about his companion.”

“It's not like we can't come back for the human,” the first one replied. He had stepped back into Castiel's personal space (as Dean would have called it). “All right. We'll leave him.”

Castiel felt himself relax, almost imperceptibly. The Leviathan in front of him grinned, human face morphing into a nightmare of teeth, then a hard blow to his stomach doubled the angel over. “Not like you had any choice but quiet,” it hissed in his ear, before striking him across the shoulders to knock him to the ground.

“Burn the blossoms,” the first Leviathan commanded. “I don't know what they want them for, but that's why they're here.”

Castiel feebly grabbed at the Leviathan's legs, but it kicked his hands away and forced him onto his stomach. With one knee planted on the angel's back, the Leviathan wrenched both of Castiel's hands behind him to knot them together with a piece of rough rope.

The clearing was filling with horrible, dirty smoke as the other Leviathan set fire to every blossom. Castiel twisted in place, hopeless rage roiling in his gut as their plans literally went up in smoke, until claws dug into his neck to force his head back down into the dirt.

“Quietly,” the Leviathan hissed into his ear. “That means no wiggling, bright eyes.”

Closing his eyes, Castiel forced himself to lie still as the Leviathan finished their work and began breaking the lines of the angel trap. He felt it when his grace broke free, but with Dean lying so helpless nearby he didn't dare to fight back against his captors.

“Up we go,” the Leviathan grabbed him by the arms and all but hauled the angel to his feet. “Mother is waiting.”

Castiel tried to twist to get a last look at Dean, but his head was forced back around as the creatures fell into position around him. There were five now, and even with his grace at full strength it would be a difficult battle. He had to bide his time, let them lead him far enough away from Dean that when he broke free the human would no longer be easy prey.

It was not an easy journey. The Leviathan jeered and catcalled, shoving him to try to trip his feet then yanking him out of step in pretend concern. The first one, in particular, took great delight in recounting Castiel and Dean's conversation from their walk to the clearing. With exaggeration, of course. Castiel was fairly certain he was not “mooning” over Dean's behavior, whatever that meant.

“What's going on in that head of yours, bright eyes?” The first Leviathan was walking next to him now, and Castiel had taken a particular dislike to this one. It never missed an opportunity to put its hands on Castiel—whether a sharp-nailed finger running down his face or a clawed hand wrapped around his arm to pull him off balance. Any excuse to touch him, it seemed. As though it had some particular claim on him as the one who'd orchestrated the angel's capture.

“I'm merely contemplating the ways I'm going to kill all of you.”

It burst into laughter, its companions joining in. “You've got nothing, angel!” the Leviathan declared. “You can't smite us, you don't have a weapon, and the poison rounds are back with your little pet! What are you going to do?”

Castiel tilted his head, managing to pull away from the grimy fingers that were once again caressing his cheek. “I could tear you limb from limb.”

That was, apparently, the wrong answer as the Leviathan grasped his arm hard enough to bruise and half-spun him around with a sharp kick to the back of his legs. Castiel sprawled in the dirt, curling in on himself as his captor rained down blows and abuse from above him.

“You don't scare me, bright eyes,” the Leviathan sneered. It had rolled Castiel onto his stomach again, pinning him to the road. “You're even weaker than the last time. Face it, angel, you're doomed.”

This close to the ground, Castiel could see the remnants of a carcass. Twisted bones, flaps of rag, and half-rotted teeth all bared to Purgatory's endless sun.

There was a splash of red, which he'd first taken to be blood but the carcass was far too old. It was a plant. A flower.

No...a blossom.

With a growl Castiel slammed his head back into the Leviathan's face. There was a yelp of surprise, then the weight was off of his back and he rolled to his feet. Summoning his strength he managed to snap the rough rope that had been binding his wrists and meet the next opponent head-on, easily flipping the creature around to impede another's path of attack.

“You said you'd come quietly!” the first Leviathan roared, rising to his feet to charge Castiel.

The angel easily side-stepped the attack, spinning the Leviathan's own momentum against it to slam his knee into its side, hard enough to shatter bone. “I lied,” he growled. With a familiar gesture his angel blade was in his hand, and he raised it warily as he backed away from the creatures.

They were staring, growling, muttering, and Castiel mustered up a smirk as he twirled his blade. “What was that about no weapon?”

Then they charged. Faces melting into nightmare mouths, hands morphing into claws the Leviathan charged as one.

_Cas? Cas, I hope you can hear me._

The welcome strain of Dean's prayer almost distracted him, but Castiel forced himself to concentrate on the battle as one Leviathan caught him across the face. He twisted to pin its arm against his side, elbowed it in the face to stun it, then severed its hand with a twist of his blade.

_You're right, I should have stopped you. You're my best friend but I just let you go._

Another wrapped its arms around him to bear him to the ground. Castiel tried to slash at its face but threw his head back with a cry as claws tore into his side. A second Leviathan stepped on his wrist and ground its foot down until his hand loosened enough for it to knock the blade away.

_And I forgive you, of course I forgive you._

The it was claws and fists and teeth. Biting, punching, tearing.

_I'm sorry it took me 'til now to say it._

The first Leviathan pulled the others away and straddled Castiel's chest to leer down into his face. “Mother said alive,” it taunted, clawed hands stroking down Castiel's face to wrap around his throat. “She never specified in one piece, bright eyes.”

_Cas I'm...I'm so sorry._

Bruised and bloody, Castiel tried to break the hold around his neck but the Leviathan easily captured one of his wrists and pinned it to the ground, the other hand more than enough to cut off what little air he needed. His body didn't respire much, but between the loss of power from Heaven and the pressure from Purgatory he found himself desperate for air. Dark spots appeared in his vision as his limbs grew weak and heavy.

He was going to die here. And this time, there would be no resurrection.

_Man, I hope you can hear me._

There was a scream from one of the other Leviathan. The one pinning down Castiel released its hold to look over its shoulder, then managed a cry of surprise before something large and dark tore it away from the angel.

Castiel rolled over onto his side, coughing for air, one hand cradling his bruised throat. He tried to get his feet under him, to pick up his blade, grab the blossom, and make a run for it. Whatever was attacking the Leviathan wouldn't hesitate to go after an unarmed, wounded angel next.

“Well, well, well. Didn't expect to see you again, hot wings, but here you are.”

He froze. Cautiously, Castiel shifted around to see the tall, broad-shouldered figure currently holding a Leviathan in a headlock.

“Benny?”

The vampire gave a feral grin, pointed teeth descending, and tore into the Leviathan's throat. The creature screamed and thrashed as black blood gushed out of the wound, then Benny threw it down with a disgusted face. “Always hated the way these things taste,” he complained.

Castiel sat stunned, one arm wrapped around his injured stomach. “They said you were dead.”

Benny raised his eyebrows. “And you believed 'em?” he drawled. He shot an arm out to clothesline an attacking Leviathan and slam it down on the ground, grabbing the creature by the wrist and _twisting_ until the joints gave and snapped. “Gonna take more than a few of my own kind to end me, _bright eyes_.”

Castiel flinched at the nickname, trying to push himself to his feet. “Please don't call me that,” he growled. Well, tried to growl. Truth be told, his voice was more of an exhausted rasp at this point.

To his astonishment, Benny quickly stepped in to wrap a supporting arm behind his shoulders and help him to his feet. “We gotta get you into some cover, then, Cas. You're still glowin' like a beacon to anyone trying to get on Mama's good side.”

“No,” he tried to pull away toward the side of the road where he'd noticed the corpse. “I have to...I need that blossom.”

This close, Benny's profile was hard to make out but he was sure the vampire had raised his eyebrows in surprise again. “That ugly thing?” he asked, jerking his chin at the red bloom. “Whatever for?”

“It's a long story,” Castiel sighed.

Benny chuckled. “Isn't it always. Well, let's get you your little flower.”

“Thank you.” He let Benny walk him over to the blossom and carefully pried it free from the ground. It had gotten stepped on at some point during the fight, but there should be enough nectar for the spell. “And thank you for the assistance.”

“It's the least I could do,” Benny replied. “Soon as I realized it was you I followed as fast as I could. Don't think Purgatory itself could stop Dean if I'd let those levis have you.”

“We have to get back to him,” Castiel said. He grudgingly let Benny take more of his weight as the adrenaline from the fight began to recede and the injuries he'd sustained made themselves known. “He should be close to the rift by now.”

“Dean's _here_?” Benny had stopped walking, and Castiel nearly stumbled before he caught himself and had to lean heavily on the vampire. “In Purgatory?”

“It's a long story.”

“It better be a good one.” Benny tugged him along again, at a slightly faster pace this time. “And what's this about a rift?”

“A portal. Back to the living world. It won't be open for much longer.”

Benny was silent for a few minutes as they limped through the forest. “What kind of portal?”

“It was created by the archangel Michael.”

“Lemme guess. Another long story?”

“Part of the same one,” Castiel sighed. “I'm not sure if you could travel through it. I'm sorry, Benny.”

“Hey, no problem,” Benny tightened his grip around Castiel's waist as they navigated around a fallen tree. “Don't have a body back there anymore anyway.”

They were silent for a few more minutes, until Castiel could feel the ripple in the air from the rift. “We're close.”

“Is Dean nearby?”

“I don't know,” Castiel squinted at the surrounding trees. There wasn't a sign that the hunter had come this way yet, and he hoped it wasn't because Dean was on his trail. “He's been praying, but it's more of an impression of emotions right now. He's grieving.”

“Well, why don't you just wait right here,” Benny suggested, easing Castiel down to sit in a hollow of tree roots. “I'll spy around, see if I can find him before it closes. If not, you get back through that rift and do whatever you need to do to and Dean and I'll hightail it to the exit.”

“Benny,” Castiel caught the vampire by the forearm. “Thank you.”

The vampire grinned. “Any time I can tear into some of Mama's favorites is fine with me, Cas.”

Castiel let his head rest back against the tree as Benny departed. Some of his more superficial injuries had healed, but he needed several hours back in the living world to restore his body fully. He slipped a hand inside his coat, fingering the spiky protrusions of the Leviathan blossom. The final ingredient, the key to ending Chuck's tyranny and truly restoring free will.

A twig snapped, and Castiel whipped his head around to see a familiar figure approaching the rift, shoulders bowed and head lowered.

“Dean.”

Dean started, gun out and up and pointed at Castiel in reflex. Then the hunter's expression changed from weary resignation to relief. “Cas?”

Castiel tried to push himself up, but Dean was beside him in a moment to pull him to his feet. “Dammit, Cas, I didn't think you were gonna make it!” Dean pulled him into a hug, and even though the embrace put pressure on some of Castiel's wounds he practically sank into it.

Dean's soul rang with joy and forgiveness and relief. Not the closed-off, bitter emotions he'd been fighting when they first entered the rift. “They were after me,” Castiel explained when Dean pulled away, still keeping an arm around the angel for support. “I was the one they wanted, so I gave myself up to keep you safe.”

The human was already shaking his head, but Castiel fumbled inside his coat to pull out the blossom before Dean could reply. “I went along with it until I spotted this, then I fought to get away.”

“Cas...” Dean stared down at the blossom.

“It got a little...smooshed,” Castiel offered when Dean didn't say any more.

“You did it,” Dean replied, grinning up at him, so warm and welcoming the last few weeks of tension seemed to melt away. “You did it, Cas.”

“I didn't do it alone,” he protested, holding back when Dean started walking toward the rift. “Dean, you should know...”

“What, you come all this way and leave without sayin' goodbye, brother?”

Dean froze, whipping his head around to stare at the vampire. “Benny?”

“In the fang.”

“They said you were dead, man!” Dean gently released Castiel, who leaned against a nearby tree for support, to clap the vampire on the shoulder and pull him into an embrace.

“And why are the two of you believing every two-bit Levi you stumble across?” Benny demanded playfully. “You should know better than that by now, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean shook his head. “I can't believe it. I was hoping we'd find you.”

“Too bad we've gotta cut this visit short,” Benny replied. “Sounds like you've got something big going on out there.”

“I could really use your help, man,” Dean said. He glanced at Castiel, then up at the rift. “You up for coming back with us?”

“Come on, Dean,” Benny shook his head. “It don't work like that.”

“I never burned your bones, Benny. Just in case.”

Benny swallowed and looked away. “I don't know. It ain't all cut and dry, you know. Your world...I'm not sure I could ever go back.”

“Well, we can always kill you again,” Castiel offered dryly. Dean shot him a glare but Benny actually laughed, something in his shoulders relaxing.

“That might be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, sugar,” the vampire drawled. “Okay. Let's do it.”

Dean was already rolling up one sleeve, knife in hand. “Ready?” he asked, making a cut on his arm before offering the blade.

Benny took the knife and made a similar cut, wrapping one calloused hand around the cut on Dean's arm to complete the connection for the spell. “See you on the other side, brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I squished time around a little for the sake of the narrative, so let's assume Dean prayed to Cas a little earlier. 
> 
> I really wish we could have seen Cas whump/badassery in the episode, but I'm pretty sure that was out of the picture with Misha needing hip replacement surgery.
> 
> However, I cannot forgive Benny dying off-screen (and like a bitch).
> 
> Anyway...until next time! *Throws handful of glitter in the air and flees while you're distracted*


End file.
